


Foolish

by Polly_Lynn



Series: The Fool Series [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage Proposal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: "Something is already in progress between them. Something dangerous. Her body and his just drifting closer, like hallways and doors and the fact that it's late don't matter in the least."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foolish

**Author's Note:**

> Cora Clavia's fault. This is set sometime before the end of the episode "A Chill Goes Through her Veins" (1 x 05)

* * *

 

 

Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans.

It is lovely to be silly at the right moment.

— Horace

* * *

 

"We should get married."

"What?" Kate blinks. She blinks again. The hallway light is too dim for her to make out much more than the basics. It's Castle. He's outside her door. He's in her hallway. Those are facts. She can see that's the case, but it doesn't make any sense. She slaps at the wall beside her, feeling blindly for the switch that's usually there.

"Can I help?" He ducks around the door frame. Around the limp arm that's the only thing holding her up, and she doesn't get why that is either. Why she's having trouble standing.

_"What?"_ Her voice is loud this time. Too loud. She has a vague sense that it's too loud, because . . . because it's late? It's late, and he can't just be in her hallway. "Castle!" She swats at him. At the curious nose crossing the threshold into her apartment. Her _apartment_. She makes contact, just barely. The rough snag of stubble at her fingertips.

"Ow!" He jerks back, more surprised than hurt. He's blinking now, too. They're both just standing there. Blinking. "Sorry," he says, but it doesn't sound like he is. It sounds like something to say because one of them should. Say something, that is.

"Your hair is messed up."

That's her, and whether someone should be saying something or not, she didn't mean to say _that._ She didn't mean to be rude or unwelcoming or . . . whatever. She doesn't know _what_ she means to be, but that's wrong. His hair is wrong and saying anything about it is wrong, too. His hair is _never_ messed up, and all of this is just startling. To him, too. Both hands fly to the top of his head and his eyes open wide. It's ridiculous. It's endearing, and _that_ particular thought has _her_ eyes opening wide.

"Castle . . ." She's exasperated and flushing hot. She doesn't get any of this, and it's late, isn't it? "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

The question spills out of her and his breath and hers catch, exactly in time. A grin flickers and spreads across his face, slow and hot and warm and . . . _goofy_. All those things at once, and she doesn't know what this _is_.

"Is that an invitation, Detective?"

Something is already in progress between them. Something dangerous. Her body and his just drifting closer, like hallways and doors and the fact that it's late don't matter in the least.

He's the one to end it. Whatever this was about to be, he puts a stop to it. It's a miracle that she's able to silence the disappointed click that races to the end of her tongue when he does. His spine goes straight, and he's holding his hands up, palms out, like _she's_ the one who needs warding off. Like this isn't her doorstep, and he's not the one completely out of context.

"No," he says. His voice is quiet and all the more adamant for it. Like that's that. "No. I'm old fashioned, Beckett."

" _You're_ old fashioned." It's loud. It's _way_ too loud when she repeats it, and she still can't figure out why. She still can't figure out what this even is.

He goes on anyway, like it's not too loud. Like she hasn't spoken at all, in fact, and she's a lot less worried about _rude_ and _unwelcoming_ all of a sudden, but he's oblivious. That's familiar, at least.

"We really should, don't you think?" He tips his head to the side and she thinks of golden retrievers. Adorably, endearingly _rumpled_ golden retrievers.

"Should?" She's blinking again, but there's nothing else for it. Whether it helps or not, there's nothing else in her arsenal at the moment. "Go to bed?"

"No." He frowns, just briefly, like he might kick himself later. Like he wishes he could have it both ways, but he brushes past it. He moves on, eager and alight, and the golden retriever metaphor isn't going anywhere. "Get married. It's a good idea."

"Old-fashioned? Get _married?_ " She's sputtering now. She's completely bewildered and spinning her wheels, just trying to catch up. He nods, dead serious, and there's that dangerous something again. She panics. "Didn't you _just_ get divorced?"

She hates it before it's out of her mouth. Before the air has a chance to settle between them. The floor is suddenly fascinating as far as he's concerned. She hates it and she's sorry and she has no idea how to say so. She has no idea what this is.

"Yeah."

It's despondent, that first word, and she knows more about him in one moment than he's let slip in all these weeks. She knows he's hurt. That he _can_ be hurt, and whatever page six and the message boards might say, nothing about his life of late has been easy. She's sorry. Not just for saying it. She's sorry for him. That it's hard. That she assumed . . . she's just _sorry_ , but he's going on before she can say anything at all.

"Yeah," he says again. He's looking right at her now, not blinking anymore. "I did, and that's . . . " He looks away. One instant, and she has the strange idea that he's gathering his courage. He meets her eyes again and she knows she's not wrong. "This is different. I'm serious. I think we should."

"Get married." It's the middle of the night. The thought finally occurs to her. It's not just late, it's the middle of the damned _night,_ and he's at her apartment. He just asked her to _marry_ him. Twice. Three times. "You think we should get married," she says, because three times isn't enough. Four. Five now, with her repeating herself.

"I think it would be great." He nods, and all that joy is back. She recognizes it now for what it's been since she opened the door. What it's been for a while now. Maybe from that very first moment.

_Where do you want it?_

"Great." He whispers it to himself and nods again, bright eyed and _absolutely_ sincere. "And I think . . ." His eyes drop to the floor again. He studies their feet on either side of the threshold, but it's shy this time. Uncertain and eager. "I want you to know I'm serious."

"About marrying me." Her voice is flat. She sounds dumb. She sounds entirely _dumb_ , but his eyes grow brighter still.

"Marrying you," he says. There's something awed in the way he echoes her. Like he hasn't been saying the word all over the place. It's reverent, but he shakes his head, like that's not quite right. "Not just that. I want you to . . . I'm serious about you. Us."

He has her hand in his and she has no idea how _that_ happened _._

"Us." She echoes _him_ now, and this has got to stop. "Castle?"

She hates the pleading note in her own voice. She hates the way her fingers are curling over the edge of his palm and the buzz rising up from her skin everywhere it touches his. She hates that they're standing _way_ too close and he's in yesterday's jeans and some kind of sweatshirt that must be a million years old and he smells so _good._ She hates that her life before kissing him is down to seconds now. She hates that she'll never be the same.

"We could . . ." He lifts her hand. His lips just brush the back of it. His breath stutters. It comes to a full and complete stop, so at least there's that. He's over it the next second, though. He recovers. "The way I see it. We could . . . you could ask me in." He looks her up and down. A heated flash, and maybe he's not so over it. Maybe neither of them will ever be over it, ever again. "I could say yes. It's late. We could both be in bed like we should be. Right now."

He turns their hands over and drops the lightest kiss possible in her palm. It's scorching. It jolts through every inch of her and she suddenly, blindingly, _alarmingly_ certain that everything that's come before—the innuendo and accidental touches, the flirting and the flat-out propositions—are nothing like his full-court press. She's suddenly, blindingly, _alarmingly_ sure that he's serious and he's not yet begun to fight.

"Bed."

There's something wrong with her. There _must_ be something wrong with her that the dumbest possible thing at any given moment keeps falling out of her mouth.

"We could, and it would be . . . well, I have no idea, do I?" He's grinning now. There's some of the usual swagger that drives her crazy. It's the first thing that's made any kind of sense she opened the door. It's the first thing that's even remotely familiar, and even so, his hands are trembling. _He's_ trembling, and she can practically feel the pulse pounding in his wrist.

"But . . ." He keeps hold of her fingers. He lets their hands fall between them, brushing his thighs. Brushing hers, because they're still _that_ close, and she probably should do something about it. "No. That's not how it's going to happen." He's leaning on the doorframe now. So is she. Her side of it, but his head tipped forward. They're close enough that his words hardly have to stir the air to reach her. She wonders—off in some detached part of her that might dreaming all if this-, she wonders at what point this is technically a kiss. "I'm old fashioned about you."

"You're insane." It's unconvincing. It's flirty and wrapped around the kind of smile she didn't think she had in her. "It's the middle of the night, and you're _insane,_ Castle."

"Maybe a little." He's smiling back. It's softer now. It's goofier and tipped half toward the floor. He's not moving. His fingers toy with hers, they brush back and forth between them, but it's idle. He's not going anywhere. "Is that a no?"

Her head falls back. She stares up at the ceiling and a laugh shivers out of her. A long, low sound. "That's a no."

"Guess I should go, then."

He glances up at her through his lashes. The swagger is still there. The joy, too, though. The sincerity, and her heart pounds with something she's just not thinking about right now.

_Maybe I just haven't met the right girl._

"You should go."

He moves. His fingers fall from hers, and she misses his skin on hers right away, but he's going. Not gracefully. One foot gets in the way of the other, but there's space between them now.

"I'll go. For now." He curls his fingers against his thighs. He takes another stumbling step back. "But I'm serious."

"Serious." She rolls her eyes. She closes the door, somehow, and presses her back against it. She breathes in and out and presses her palms hard against the giddy feeling in her stomach.

_He's serious._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not my fault. I have zero resistance vs. this episode.


End file.
